Everyone
suddenly burst out singing;
And I was fill’d with such delight
As prison’d birds must find in freedom
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on – on – and out of sight.
And I was fill’d with such delight
As prison’d birds must find in freedom
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on – on – and out of sight.
Everyone’s
voice was suddenly lifted,
And beauty came like the setting sun;
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O, but every one
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
And beauty came like the setting sun;
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O, but every one
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
Siegfried Sassoon
A Course in Miracles describes our true nature as like a forgotten song. From time to time, in a moment of peace or reconciliation, we may suddenly experience the sweetness of complete happiness. This is when we come closest to remembering what we are, the course tells us. Truth is always in us, around us, everywhere unchanging and joyous, but it is only in rare instants that we consciously become aware of it. We are not much used to listening for this unceasing song, and even when we do catch a few notes of it we have learned to dismiss it, forget it again, focus on the 'more important' noises of fear and distraction. Even what we do hear is no more than an echo, just a 'wisp' of a reality that seems unreal as we measure reality in this world, but at the same time we know is more true than any of the incomplete satisfactions we pursue here.
When the world talks of 'being true to yourself' or encourages you to 'take care of yourself' or recommends you allow yourself some 'me-time', it is helpful to ask yourself which self are you being true to? If you think happiness depends on singing from your own songsheet, you will not hear the wordless song that all of us everywhere is singing in harmony, for the most part unknowingly. Listen to everyone you meet or think of today and hear the bird in them that is singing the same song as the bird in you.
Listen,–perhaps you catch a hint of an ancient state not quite forgotten; dim, perhaps, and yet not altogether unfamiliar, like a song whose name is long forgotten, and the circumstances in which you heard completely unremembered. Not the whole song has stayed with you, but just a little wisp of melody, attached not to a person or a place or anything particular. But you remember, from just this little part, how lovely was the song, how wonderful the setting where you heard it, and how you loved those who were there and listened with you (T21 I 6)
